


I'm on my Knees (Begging you to Notice Me)

by tisfan



Series: Truth is Who You Are [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Denial of Feelings, Dom Bucky Barnes, Dom/sub, Emotional Porn, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Rope Bondage, Spanking, Sub Tony Stark, Tony Stark Is Not Helping, frog tie, maintenance spankings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 17:30:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14525664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Tony's still struggling with his submissive nature. Bucky has a proposal.





	I'm on my Knees (Begging you to Notice Me)

**Author's Note:**

> This scene contains a lot of negotiation, a maintenance spanking, smut, and then aftercare with Tony having a complete breakdown -- he's overwhelmed, not sad. As always, you know your limits better than I do.

“So, here’s my proposal,” Bucky said. He was doing that thing that he did, the one that was both flattering and annoying as shit, where he sprawled in a chair while Tony paced around, which made him less tall, less domineering. Asshole. As if there was any posture Bucky could use that could possibly make him less of a DT-14. (Tony had insisted on getting the test, even when they had to find a doctor willing to sign an NDA and get paid outrageous sums of money to keep his damn mouth closed.)

“Nope, no, _nyet_ ,” Tony said, holding up one hand. “Let’s go back to the bullshit idea where I stop taking my suppressants.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Tony,” Bucky said. “I can read a medical report as well as you can, and if you didn’t want me to know about it, why the hell did you leave it on your desk?”

“That’s my private correspondence,” Tony snapped. “Did you think maybe, maybe, I was testing you, to see just what a controlling Dom-ass you could be?”

“Stop it,” Bucky said, and he was so stupidly gentle about saying it, not reaching for his Command Voice at all that Tony sighed. “Your suppressants are killing you. It’s damaging your heart, honey.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“That you’re doubling up on your dose?” Bucky raised an eyebrow. “If I say it’s my fault, will you listen to me?”

“Like I can stop you?” Tony waved both arms around in the air in an excess of frustration.

“God, you’re such a brat,” Bucky said. He pinched at the bridge of his nose like Tony’d given him a headache. Which was probably true. “We already agreed that I wasn’t going to Dom you anywhere, not even in the bedroom. The fact that you don’t trust me to do that has a lot to do with your capture in Afghanistan, and I’m not about to fuck over what little road we’ve managed to pave in that direction. This is not your Dom, telling you what we’re going to do. This -- me -- I’m your partner, who cares about you a hell of a lot despite the fact that you’re doing your damndest to drive me away, asking you to sit down and listen to me for a few minutes. Okay? Can we please do that? You can go back to telling me no when I’m done.”

Tony sighed. He knew he was being unreasonable, and Bucky was being as nice as he possibly could be, given the situation. He was long past the point where Pepper would have started yelling, and Rhodey would have started the instant that medical report landed on his desk.

“Proposal, go,” Tony said, throwing himself down in a chair and covering his face with one hand.

“I think we should go on vacation,” Bucky said. “Someplace secluded. You’re a billionaire; buy an island.”

Tony muttered into his palm. “I already have three. You can pick one.”

“Okay, great,” Bucky said. “So, we go to your island. For… a month. You can bring as many projects and hardware as you want, work on anything you want to play with. All I want is you to stop taking the drop-suppressants, and stop wearing that pheromone stuff for the whole time.”

“What’s the point?”

“My point, Tony, aside from the fact that you’re endangering your health by going against the natural order of your body--”

“Women have been taking birth control for years, that’s --”

“The _same damn thing_ and you know it. Birth control may have given people choices about childbearing, but it’s not safe. It’s a shitty solution, and for a lot of people, it’s the only one. But you? You’re _killing_ yourself,” Bucky said. “And I just… I want the opportunity to prove to you that it’s the worse of the two evils. I want… I want you to give me a chance, baby, a real one.”

Tony peered at Bucky over his fingers. “Are you saying let’s make a baby together?”

Bucky snorted. “I’m saying… give me a month. Give me a month, where you be as honest and as much yourself as you can be. And I’ll do the same.”

“Toward what end?”

Bucky offered a hand, palm up, fingers slightly curved. “Bonding. Marriage, whatever you want to call it. That’s my goal, honey. I just… I want you to feel safe with me. I want you to _be_ safe, with me. I know you’re afraid of what’s going to happen, I know, baby, I know. I want to show you that it doesn’t have to be that way. I’ll sign anything you want, pre-nup agreements are legalling binding, even for a D/s, you know that. But if you’re my sub, no one else can ever, ever touch you again.”

“You want to protect me? Like I’m a fucking damsel,” Tony said. He wasn’t even angry anymore, even though he wanted to be. He wanted to be, Bucky was trying to buy his compliance, trying to bribe him into… into what? Letting someone else take care of him? Wasn’t that what Tony always wanted? Just someone to fucking care? To treat him right? To have someone who had his back, who could be his one partner against the world?

“I want,” Bucky said, “to show you that you don’t have to protect yourself… from me.”

Oh.

_Oh._

“What happens if we have to save the world, mid-vacation?”

“Then you stay in the fucking suit, Tony,” Bucky told him. “Some genius.”

All right. All right. Bucky had thought this through. There was a plan. Some sort of plan.

Tony wanted to clench at his heart, wanted to hold his bottle of pills like it would protect him. It had protected him.

But now, now it wasn’t anymore. The only other option he could see -- and Bucky was right, damn it, Tony had left the report on his desk hoping Bucky would see it -- was that he had to give up Bucky. Fighting with Bucky’s ridiculous Dom voice and his stupid concern for Tony’s well being, and the fact that neither of them could seem to stay away from each other… it wasn’t working out.

He could give up Bucky. (Not happening.)

Or he could give up the suppressants.

Or he could die.

“Lesser of the evils it is,” Tony said. “I’ll talk to Pep, see what we can arrange.”

***

“Don’t damage him too much, boss,” Happy said, nudging Tony with a sly wink on his way back to the plane. Happy, and a handful of other trustworthy security employees, plus the jet’s pilot, would be headed back to San Juan, which was about a forty minute flight from Tony’s little island. They’d unloaded Tony’s crates and stowed them in the workshop, and unloaded Bucky’s crates. Those were stowed in the bedroom.

Tony managed a quick wink and smirk for his forehead of security, but truth be told, he was a little concerned that Bucky might damage _him_. Of course, no one knew that except him, Bucky, Pepper, and the doctors. Even Rhodey didn’t know that Tony had taken up with Bucky as his _Dom_. As far as Rhodey knew, everything was just like it’d been when Tony was in college; Tony using his high Sub instincts to play a massive game of Make Believe. Which, now that they were on a private island off the Carribean, probably wasn’t a great plan.

“Yeah, maybe this was a bad idea,” Tony announced.

Of course, he announced it to absolutely no one. Happy and the crew were back on the plane and Bucky was doing his protection thing where he mapped out every inch of the area to make sure there weren’t any threats. He probably wouldn’t be back for at least two hours, which left Tony to either unpack his lab, or to see how much torture he was in for by finding out what Bucky had brought with them, and ponder the ideas.

There was a coil of interest there, slithering into his lower belly.

He and Bucky had been seeing each other on the sly for a few weeks after Pepper’s wedding, and then even longer as a “It’s just a thing, Cap, don’t worry about it,” kind of fuck-buddy, just two bros helping each other out thing. But as far as Tony knew, no one knew that Bucky was his Dom. If anything, they all thought that _Tony_ was Winter Soldier’s Dom.

Which was just how Tony liked it. Most of the time.

It did mean, however, that anything Dom-like on Bucky’s part was right off the table. No spankings, no pain play, no bondage. They had to be careful and prepared all the time for an Avenger’s alert, for someone to walk in, or for anyone to notice bruises on Tony’s throat. That was the excuse, at least, and Bucky had agreed to it without complaint.

Most of their play time had been straight up sex. Very, very rarely, Bucky had asked for, and Tony had indulged, a bit of heavy-handed bossiness during sex.

Which Tony didn’t mind, not in the slightest. Bucky was eight kinds of molten hot, and tender when he needed to be, and the orgasms were great.

But he still hadn’t _dropped_. He hadn’t let himself.

He still hadn’t hit subspace. Not since that first time, and even then, he only barely skimmed it.

When Tony wasn’t bothering to get attached to anyone, when he was pretending to Dom, or clubbing it with strangers, he could bear it. He knew he had to, and he was so used to going without that it was like hunger.

When you were starving, after a while, you stopped noticing.

Having sex with Bucky was like taking only a few bites of food a day, just enough that he wasn’t starving, but enough that he was always ravenous. Bone deep, slightly nauseated all the time, _needy_.

Not hitting subspace was becoming like sleep-deprivation.

Tony’d been on the edge of wanting to scream. Or cry.

For months now. And every tiny step closer to the edge he took, he just wanted to fucking jump already.

Maybe Bucky was right. Maybe getting away from everyone for a while, where Tony didn’t have to keep up pretenses, was a good idea.

Tony really hoped so, because he’d left his suppressants back at the Tower. He’d taken the last one almost twenty-four hours ago and they’d be wearing off soon.

No turning back now.

Yeah, okay, so Tony was going to go look in the boxes.

There were four crates. Four. Jesus. What the hell did Bucky think they were going to do with not one or two or three but _four crates_?

Tony dragged the top one off the pile. If he wasn’t used to carting large heavy pieces of armor around, Tony probably would have dropped it. As it was, Bucky was going to no doubt know that Tony was peeking, because there was no way he was getting that crate back up there without a winch.

No DNA coder and it took Tony about two minutes to pick the locks. He was pretty sure that most of the team could have done it faster, but Tony was no slouch with a hair pin and a set of tumbler prods, himself.  

Everything had been lovingly packed in custom foam.

Three different wide-body paddles. Leather cuffs. Spreader bars. Several coils of thick, heavy elastic bands. Padded leather bars and a set of uprights; those would have to be assembled on site, but looked modular. They could be converted to an Andrew’s Cross, or a spanking bench.

Two slender canes.

A set of varicolored wax candles.

Several rolls of bondage tape, the good kind that stuck to itself but didn’t pull out hair or tear skin.

Tony was shivering by the time he made it to the bottom of the box and a half dozen delicate boxes that contained sex jewelry -- a cock cage, nipple clamps, various fragile seeming chains and a series of weights -- and lingerie.

He wasn’t sure if it was fear or anticipation.

Except he was more than half hard, just fingering the items, imagining the ways that Bucky might use them on him.

Closed his eyes and imagined himself, spread-eagle over their bed with Bucky enacting any number of delicious torments on his skin.

On his soul.

“I see you’re eager to get started,” Bucky said, and Tony actually shrieked in surprise.

“I wasn’t spying,” Tony protested, automatically.

“Weren’t you?”

“Okay, maybe I was, but I’m not going to apologize for it, either,” Tony said.

“I wasn’t asking you to.”

“What are you asking me to do, then?”

Bucky sighed, and it seemed to come all the way up from the bottoms of his feet. “I want you to stop fighting me,” Bucky said. “I want you to _let me help you_.”

Tony took a deep breath until it burned in his lungs, holding it until the end of his endurance, until black spots floated against his eyes, until his head was spinning, until his ears were ringing, then, “okay. I told you I was going to give this a chance, so. Okay. Full Dom treatment. Go.”

Bucky glanced at him, a quicksilver flitter of his lashes, and then--

“ _Get on your knees_.”

Tony thought he’d heard Bucky’s Command voice, thought he’d been in the presence of a real Dom before, someone who could demand utter obedience.

He was wrong.

 _Oh, god,_ Tony was wrong.

He’d thought that, the first time, Bucky had caught him by surprise, that it was a fluke, a combination of weakness and alcohol and grief, and that he could endure if he needed to, could stand against it.

He couldn’t.

Tony went down. All the way to his knees, wrists going neatly behind his back, forehead down to the floor.

And it was…

_Good._

***

Bucky didn’t think Tony would ever know how hard it was for him to not pounce in that moment. Tony went to his knees, sweetly compliant, his eyes downcast with respect, his entire body graceful and gorgeous, and that scent, the sweet tang of his pheromones was filling up the room. Bucky had scented the man from the other side of the damn island at a shift in the wind, for fuck’s sake.

Tony’s scent was a challenge and a beckoning call and a dark, desperate need all at once.

Sweet temptation and a trap that Bucky absolutely could not allow himself to fall into.

Bucky dropped into a squat near Tony’s elbow. “That’s good,” he said, encouraging. “You’re very pretty like that, baby. So good. I know this is hard, I know it. Gonna give you some options, okay? You tell me which one you want.”

Bucky waited until Tony lifted his chin and nodded. He was listening.

“I can give you a list of rules, and we can square up at exactly eight, every evening, to see where you are on your infractions,” Bucky offered. “Or we can limit our play to four hours at the end of each day; I’ll give you some tasks, you give me some service. Or we can just skip the formality and the etiquette and I will take you down, as far as you need, using exactly as much force as you need me to.”

Tony jerked his chin up and met Bucky’s gaze. Bucky didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone so conflicted before in his life; fear and loathing, need and desire, chased each other over Tony’s expression.

“You’re gonna have to break me,” Tony confessed, and his voice was choked. “I don’t… I don’t know how, anymore. I don’t--”

“You don’t trust anyone,” Bucky said, running a soothing hand over Tony’s back. “I know, baby. All right, honey, we’ll do it your way.” It was not what Bucky wanted. Tony was like a horse that had been badly handled, apt to bite and kick and rear without warning. But Bucky would give him exactly what he needed. Or, at least, he would try. “Give me a safe word.”

“I don’t need a safeword,” Tony snarled. “I need you to _just do it_.”

“ _I_ need a safeword,” Bucky told him.

Tony touched his fingers to his forehead. “Um. Calliope.”

“All right,” Bucky said.

He pulled back his shoulders and inhaled, tightened his diaphragm until Bucky reached the level of tension that activated his Command. “Take off your clothes, fold ‘em neat. I’ll get you a cushion to kneel on. Want you to get on your knees, all the way down. Forehead on the floor. And wait for my next order. We’re clear?”

“Clear,” Tony said, his tone sarcastic.

“Sir.”

That jaw tensed and Bucky watched it until Tony spat out a reluctant “Sir.”

Bucky was well trained; he’d been Hydra’s tool for decades. He knew exactly how hard to strike. His hand darted out and caught Tony’s left ass cheek with a sharp slap that would sting right through his trousers.

Tony yelped, whirled, eyes sparking. “What?”

Bucky’s eyebrow went up. “Yes, sir,” he prompted.

Tony was rubbing at the spot, no doubt it was smarting. “Yes, sir,” he repeated. It wasn’t quite respectful, but at least he’d stopped sneering.

The worst thing was that Tony was going to fight him, every step of the way. He craved it, wanted to be subdued, compliant, obedient. Wanted to be good, to be loved and cherished and treasured. And he didn’t trust any of it.

Tony was going to have to rode down hard, and Bucky wasn’t sure he could do it. Except the other options were worse, weren’t they?

He could give Tony up, let him keep looking, find someone who would, eventually, do it for him.  

Except there were so few damn Doms in the world who understood, really, in their blood and bones, what Tony was so damn terrified of. And eventually Tony would turn to someone worse, to get what he needed. And the fallout would be everything he feared and hated. He might never come back from it.

Bucky knew that, because he’d been there. Hydra had put a collar on his neck and compliance in his heart and held him down. Not with love, but with fear and pain and humiliation. He understood what it meant, to crave a thing, need it with every fiber of your being and hate it anyway.

Or he could go on, as they were, not getting Tony quite where he needed to be, never earning Tony’s trust, and never seeing Tony’s eyes go wide and soft as he fell, effortlessly, into subspace.

He was going to have to be very, very careful.

Tony did as he was told for a change. Trying, Bucky knew. Bucky opened the third box and got out a plush, soft cushion and dropped it to one side of the boxes.

Naked, clothes folded, Tony went to the cushion and sank down. His eyelids were fluttering as he watched Bucky from under the shield of his lashes. Already shivering.

“You cold, honey?”

“In this weather?” Tony scoffed.

“Okay,” Bucky said. “You let me know if that changes.”

“Right,” Tony snorted. “I'm gonna complain about the temperature.”

Bucky sighed. They couldn't even get through two minutes? “Get up. Come here.”

Bucky waited until Tony obeyed him. The first smack’s hot pink mark had already faded.

“Sir.” And he smacked Tony's ass again. Same spot, bringing the red heat back to the surface. “I don't want to tell you again, Tony. You don't have to respect me or care about me, I know I can't make you do that--”

“I respect you,” Tony protested, then added a hasty _sir._

Bucky curled in, closer, pressing himself against Tony’s bare skin, feeling the man’s shivers. Wanting to lick them right out of him. “You can’t separate me from the Dom,” he said. “It’s what I am. If you want _me_ , then you have to accept that I’m your Dom, honey.”

“I know you are, sir,” Tony said. He leaned back, unconsciously, skin rippling into gooseflesh at Bucky’s touch.

“All right, then,” Bucky said. He nuzzled at Tony’s neck, ran a hand along Tony’s spine and hip, teasing at those places he already know on Tony’s body were sensitive. “Go back and kneel on your cushion.”

“Yes, sir,” Tony said.

Tony went back to his cushion. Bucky watched him intently the whole time, the seductive roll of Tony’s hips as he walked, the deliberate look cast back over Tony’s shoulder. When Tony was all the way down, Bucky ran his fingers through Tony’s hair, pushed a little bit on the back of his neck to get the sweet line of his spine exactly perfect. “Good boy.”

And then Bucky started to unpack.

He organized the items that Tony had already unpacked to snoop. Set up the padded leather bench, keeping himself in Tony’s line of sight while he assembled it. Watched Tony watching him, at first with trepidation. He squirmed a few times, obviously anticipating all the delicious uses the bench could be used for.

Bucky laid out a wheeled cart and place tools on it, deliberate and slow, taking his time as he brushed his fingers over each implement before putting it in its place. Between tasks, Bucky would stop for a few minutes, crouch near Tony, touch his skin, nuzzle at his neck. “Doing okay?”

“Yes, sir,” Tony answered, the first few times, alert and anxious in turns, and then, as the afternoon wore on, a little slower.

“Good boy,” Bucky would always tell him.

After the first hour, Bucky snapped his fingers. “Come on, we’re changing rooms. Grab your cushion and follow me.”

Tony’s face, if Bucky’d had an inch of artistic talent, would have been an amazing capture; a little sleepy, a little confused, a bit disappointed.

Bucky kissed him. It was hard to look at those lush, slightly lopsided lips, turned into a sexy pout, and not want to kiss him, so Bucky did. He flicked his tongue lightly over Tony’s bottom lip just until he felt Tony’s mouth drop open and then backed off. “You’re doing good, honey. You need a break?”

“No, sir, I just--” Tony bit at his lip where Bucky had licked it.

“Okay, then,” Bucky said. “Cushion, follow me.”

It was colder in the converted basement that Tony was going to be using for his workshop while they were there; they’d installed a new air conditioner just to keep the processors for his workstations from overheating.

“Down, here,” he told Tony, setting him in the middle of the room where Bucky could unpack and still keep an eye on his sub. When Tony settled, Bucky petted his hair a few times, then couldn’t resist. He knelt behind Tony, licked a wet line up his spine until Tony was practically upright, trying to push into the touch. Bucky cupped Tony’s ass with one hand, teased at his crack with light strokes. “You’re so beautiful, honey.” Tony tipped his head back and Bucky rewarded that with another feathering kiss. Pulled Tony against his chest and stroked down his body, flicking at nipples already hard from the chill in the air until Tony was panting, making soft, encouraging noises.

Gently, Bucky cupped the back of Tony’s neck and pushed him back down to the floor, forehead inches from the cement. “There you go, baby,” he said, softly. “Stay.”

“Yes… yes sir,” Tony whispered, voice shivering with anticipation.

Bucky could almost taste the confusion in the air when he got up and walked away again. Bucky unpacked, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible as he opened crates and laid out Tony’s tools. He was grateful, for once, for his memory that held every bit of data now; what Hydra had done to him, to keep him compliant, had been etched on the inside of his skull, but also, the pattern that Tony preferred his tools, what each one was for, where the computers went, and how to hook them together in perfect synchronicity were also there, indelible. It meant he didn’t have to ask Tony questions, distract him when what Bucky wanted was for Tony to be there, one hundred percent in the moment.

Tony let him get away with it for another twelve minutes -- Bucky wondered if Tony was also keeping one eye on the clock -- before he finally asked. “Are… sir, are we… going to do anything?”

“How are you doing? Hungry? Thirsty? Need a break?”

“I’m fine, sir,” Tony said, puzzlement coloring his tone. “You think I can’t kneel?”

“I think you do a very good job, kneeling and being good for me. Pretty and perfect. So I can watch you. You’re being my decoration right now,” Bucky said.

“Huh?”

“You’re doing a good job, baby,” Bucky said, and turned back to his work, pretending to fiddle with Tony’s 3D matrix projector.

Another four minutes, then a huff of air. “I’m not _doing_ anything, sir,” Tony protested.

“I know,” Bucky said. “But you were eager to get started and we needed to unpack.”

Tony’s head snapped up and he out and out glared at Bucky. “You’re _punishing_ me?”

Bucky put down the soldering iron he was unpacking, went over to Tony. “No, honey,” he said, very gently. “I’m _rewarding_ you. You wanted to get started, and you’re trying, so hard, to be good for me. So, you can be good, while I unpack, okay?” He was touching Tony’s skin, his arms, his shoulders, brushing his knuckles along Tony’s cheekbone.

“I just,” Tony said, and his eyes were huge, wide and dark. “Just--”

“Thought we’d do something else?” Bucky asked, when it became clear that Tony was having trouble expressing his feelings.

Tony nodded.

“Do you need to do something else? Because honey, I’ll do whatever you want me to.”

“Kinda thought we were gonna fuck,” Tony said, and he averted his eyes. “Sir.”

“Well, we can do that, if you want to, need to,” Bucky said, “but you know, domming’s not about sex, right? You do know that?”

Tony blinked, confused.

“Well--”

“It can be, baby,” Bucky said, very gently. “But it’s like saying love is about sex. It’s really not. Sex is part of love, part of domming, part of submitting. But it’s not the whole thing. It’s not even most of it. Domming, subbing… baby, that’s about _trust_.”

“How is this trust, you’re not doing anything,” Tony blurted.

“You’re right, I’m not,” Bucky said. “You’re naked, on a cushion, just about as vulnerable as you can be, and I’m not doing _anything_.”

“You don’t… want to?”

“Tony, you know better than that,” Bucky said. “Want you all th’ time, baby. Every day, every minute of every day, I want you. I love your body, love every single inch of it. Love the way you smile, and the way you walk. The way you stuff your hands in your pockets when you’re nervous. You are the most utterly beautiful, completely tempting creature I’ve ever seen, and that’s just on the outside, honey.” He traced the line down from Tony’s quivering mouth along his throat, to the scars on his chest. “In here, you’re so amazing, I don’t think you even know how… transcendent you are. I want you so much, it _aches_.”

“If you want me, why am I just _sitting around_?”

“Because this--” Bucky rubbed Tony’s skin. “That’s what people can _take_. I don’t want to take anything from you, Tony. I don’t want to steal it, or force it, or any of that. I want… what I want, Tony… that’s love. Trust. Desire. You can’t _take_ those things. You can only be given them. I’ll wait. However long it takes, whatever you need. But I’m not going to take your body at the cost of your certainty. If you want this, great, I’m happy, delighted and overjoyed, even, to give it to you. But I’m going to give it to you, Tony, not force it on you. _I promise_.”

***

Tony was able to hold out, kneeling, naked, trying not to talk, for about another hour. He thought. It might have been a little more, or a little less. Sometimes things got a little swimmy in his head when he was trying really hard to just _be still_. Being still was a lot harder than it should have been.

He got a little squirmy because his head kept running, full tilt, into the brick fucking wall that was Bucky Barnes.

Random spurts of thoughts, chasing the rabbit, running down tag end ideas, they kept him occupied for a while, but his brain kept coming back to the “is this it? This has got to be a joke, it’s got to be a trap, or a trick, or _something_.”

And it wasn’t like Bucky was ignoring him -- Tony wouldn’t have tolerated being ignored, not on his best day. He was Tony _goddamn_ Stark and people noticed him. Bucky came over to him, checked in, petted Tony, stroked his arms, his back. Made sure he had water to drink and a few slices of fruits and a bit of rolled up ham and cheese. Told Tony he was good, that Bucky was proud, all the things that Tony rolled around in and ate up, except that he couldn’t help the little voice that wondered what the hell Bucky wanted from him.

Bucky was nuzzling at his throat again, quick flicks of his tongue along the vein there, one hand teasing up and down Tony’s chest when Tony finally gave in.

“I… want more,” he admitted.

“Yeah?” Bucky asked, like he hadn’t been waiting for it, all day.

Why, Tony wondered, did that bother him? It wasn’t like Tony didn’t want sex, too, it wasn’t like he wasn’t enjoying being touched and praised and admired. So, why was it so wrong for Bucky to want those things?

_It’s not._

“Yeah,” Tony said. “Can… will you, just…” It was hard to admit. Hard to verbalize what it was that he wanted. Wanting Bucky to just take the choice away, and knowing damn well that Bucky wasn’t going to… he wasn’t going to do that.

There were bands of iron around Tony’s chest that fell away with that clarity of thought.

“Sir, I would like a maintenance spanking,” Tony said. “We… we never did that, I don’t… I don’t have any gauge of what punishment will be like with you. I’m scared to agree to any rules, because I don’t know what fucking up will earn me.”

“All right,” Bucky said, which was a relief, because if he asked Tony if Tony was sure, well, then no, Tony wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure about anything, and he needed to find some solid ground.

Maybe he could find it in pain.

Sometimes there was clarity in pain.

“Come on, up you get,” Bucky said, helping Tony to stand. He didn't realize how much he needed the help until his legs wobbled under him. How long had he been sitting there, bouncing the same stupid idea around in his head like a dog with a tennis ball?

Bucky brought him back to the bedroom, and then Tony flushed suddenly. “Sir, I…” he stammered to a halt again, not knowing how to make the confession.

“You okay, honey? Second thoughts?” Bucky was right there, searching his eyes. So caring, so _concerned._

“I forgot my cushion, sir,” Tony reported.

Bucky leaned in, gauged his expression, then pressed a warm kiss against Tony’s forehead. “Thank you for telling me,” he said. “That’s good. I’m going to give you a reward choice for that; do you want to stay here while I get it, or do you want to go back to the workshop and get it yourself?”

“I’ll get it, sir,” Tony said.

“All right,” Bucky replied. “And Tony? Don’t cover yourself. I want to see you, all of you, coming and going.” Bucky leaned against the nearest wall and very obviously leered at him.

Tony had been naked in front of more people than he could conveniently count; he and Bruce had once walked down the street naked for losing a bet (and honestly, if he could walk around in direct comparison to the _Hulk_ and not feel body shame, a man was pretty self confident). And yet, Bucky looking at him that way made him hot and squirmy and almost desperately wanting to shield himself with his hands.

And at the same time, the way Bucky was _looking_ at him… like he was a sculpture or some sort of work of art. Made Tony hotter. He could feel his skin turning red, blushing hard enough that his skin felt almost sore and sunburned.

He bit his lip, then nodded again, trying to ignore the reaction. “Yes, sir.”

He wasn’t entirely sure what Bucky had meant about hiding himself -- obviously he wasn’t going to look very graceful walking backward out of the room. But he’d always been told that his back side was even better than his front. He turned neatly on one heel and let his hips _sway_.

He couldn’t help the smug grin that touched his mouth as Bucky made a soft, longing noise in his throat. “Good boy.”

The pillow was stupidly large, thick enough that even his looking at fifty right in the face knees were padded well enough that kneeling wasn’t too difficult.

Which made it awkward to carry without blocking any of his bits. If he carried it in one hand, it dragged on the ground, or it made his shoulder ache from trying to keep it off the floor. Carrying it in both hands across his chest was how he’d managed it when Bucky had moved him from one room to the other but he was operating under different orders now.

He eventually settled for carrying it on his head like a water-carrier would balance her clay jar, one hand up to steady it, the other at his side for balance. He probably looked at least a little ridiculous, but Tony was often of the opinion that all naked men were a little ridiculous. There was something about a dick, and the way it took itself very seriously, and yet was this… weird appendage. Especially when he walked. Hard or soft, penises did not look sexy while walking.

By the time he got back, Bucky had set up a few tools, laid out some rope, and had stripped down to just his boxer briefs. Tony stopped dead in the doorway; Bucky wasn’t actually looking at him just yet, bent over the crate, and Tony wanted to take a moment to admire. Bucky had a perfect back, shoulders and arm nicely muscled, trim waist, and thick thighs.

He was tempted to drop his cushion and kneel, but Bucky had wanted to look at him. Undoubtedly, Bucky already knew he was there; super soldier hearing was one of those unfair advantages. So he just waited, standing in the door, for Bucky to notice him.

It was warmer in the bedroom than in the shop, but by the time Bucky looked up -- he was coiling the rope, considering items on their tables, moving around some of the furniture, obviously making plans -- Tony was shivering.

“Hey baby,” Bucky said, wide smile on his face. “Aren’t you a sight?”

Tony imagined he probably was; he wasn’t the sleek, perfectly golden ideal of male beauty that Bucky was, but he did all right, scars and age aside.

Bucky strode over to him, circled him with the intensity of a feral cat, touching and stroking at Tony’s body. A hand up his thigh, finger down his spine, velvet soft mouth on his shoulder. Bucky curled that metal hand around Tony’s cock and stroked until the plates were warmed with Tony’s body heat, until Tony was shivering and pressing into that hand, practically raising onto his toes with each stroke, hips moving without his direction.

“Gonna make things a little easier for you,” Bucky said, while still moving his hand, and at that very moment, Tony almost didn’t care if Bucky made things really hard for him. Pun intended. Bucky didn’t usually use his metal hand during their sex play, an abundance of caution that Tony had found frustrating, given that he couldn’t really help his ASFRian tendencies.

“Thank you, sir.” Tony didn’t stop pushing into Bucky’s hand, the smooth surface a tantalizing drag across Tony’s skin, the regular ridges where the plates joined together a sensual tease.

Bucky ended his stroke with a enticing twist of his wrist and then took his hand away. Tony more sensed than saw the lustful smirk that Bucky made when Tony whined at that.

“Come on, gonna tie you down a bit,” Bucky said.

Tony considered that for a moment, then nodded. He hadn’t been bound; not for a long time. Being held against his will had been terrifying, had nearly broken him a dozen times over, but Bucky wasn’t going to hold him against Tony’s will. There was a strange pain in Tony’s chest that made him gasp for air. Bucky was going to hold Tony down in accordance with Tony’s will.

“All right, sir,” Tony agreed.

And it would be easier. A rope, or cuffs holding him down, removing a wide variety of his choices, would make it easier to focus on the choices he did have, force him to experience the pleasure, rather than fight it.

Hopefully.

Bucky led him over to a plush, beanbag style chair. It was a little more solid than that, but the cover was slick, artificial leather and it made a pleasant rattling sound when Bucky nudged it into place. “Kneel here, wrists behind your back.” Tony tossed his cushion on the floor and did as he was told. Bucky guided him into place until he was kneeling, facing the bean chair, and bent slightly over it. There was some sort of squashy thing in the middle of the chair that gave Tony just enough support that when he leaned against it, he was held up, but soft enough that there wasn’t inordinate pressure on his reconstructed sternum, an especially thoughtful gesture, given that, with his hands behind his back, Tony wasn’t going to be able to keep himself upright.

The fake leather was almost chilly at first, and then warmed under Tony’s skin. He was going to stick to it, eventually, as he sweated, like a car seat in summer.

Bucky laid a few coils across Tony’s back. “Don’t drop those,” he cautioned. Tony pushed forward, leaning into the beanbag, to make his back more shelf-like, since the silken ropes were already sliding downward. It was awkward, and then his ass as up, which was probably the intent, but made Tony more aware of his achingly vulnerable he was.

Bucky ran a wondering hand over Tony’s ass, his thighs. “Good, you’re so good,” Bucky murmured, and Tony relaxed again. Bucky seemed to have some sort of sixth sense about when Tony’s nerves were kicking in, which was good. It was good, Tony thought, determined. It was good, and it was going to be good, and he needed this. He knew he needed it, but much like everything else that was supposedly good for him, he fought it tooth and nail, even when only in his thoughts.

Bucky’s hands were swift, sure, and comforting. He wrapped Tony’s thigh a few times with one length of rope, then pushed him into a slightly more uncomfortable position so he could bind Tony’s ankle to his thigh. A frog-tie, then, which would keep Tony’s thighs spread. Tony was shivering with anticipation by the time Bucky got both his legs in position.

Balanced on his cushion, on his knees, pushed forward so his face was down and ass was up. The pleather material rubbed against his chest. Bucky bound his wrists behind his back and then Tony was pretty much helpless. There was a moment of bright, painful panic as he twisted and struggled against his bonds, breath whistling in and out between clenched teeth.

Bucky put a warm hand between Tony’s shoulder blades. “You’re okay,” he said. “You’re safe, honey. I’ve got you.”

And somehow, that was enough. _Bucky_ had him, not anyone else.

Bucky was never going to hurt him, not in any way that Tony didn’t want. He believed that.

He trusted that.

Tony let go. “I’m okay, sir,” he said, and meant it.

“Good to know,” Bucky said, and he kissed the middle of Tony’s spine, licked his way down until he was nuzzling at that flat triangle of skin, hypersensitive, right at the base of Tony’s spine. That spot, both ticklish and erogenous that had Tony squirming in mere moments, and usually the way he’d thrust his ass up at those light touches would distract Bucky, who’d move on to business of the evening, driving Tony out of his goddamn mind.

There wasn’t anything he could do; the squishie beanbag flattened out more, but that only served to mire him deeper; a frogtie wasn’t so binding that he couldn’t have crawled away, under normal circumstances, but as it was, he was captive to Bucky’s torturing mouth. Tony’s dick didn’t seem to have a lot of concerns about the bondage; Tony found himself rocking into the beanbag, moaning softly.

Bucky was unrelenting, his mouth and tongue making short work of any thoughts Tony might have had of resisting, licking at his back, his thighs, the round curves of his ass. His hands were busy, too, brushing over Tony’s skin. Hips and sides and for quite a long time, he drew shivering paths down Tony’s shoulders to his elbows, just light enough to tease.

By the time Bucky was stroking the entrance to Tony’s body, he’d mostly forgotten that he’d asked Bucky to give him a spanking.

The first blow was a bright flash of shock. Tony made an embarrassingly loud yelp, and it didn’t even hurt for a few seconds. It wasn’t until the first sparkle faded, leaving a dull, warm ache, that Tony actually even realized how much it had hurt.

Nothing he couldn’t bear -- Tony was a damn superhero, after all, and he got thrown around in the suit all the time -- but it did hurt. Stung, really. And it throbbed for a long moment afterward.

Bucky’s metal hand came down over the hotspot, rubbing cool metal fingers to soothe the ache. “You’re still okay, baby?”

Tony flushed, hot and furious, suddenly. Did Bucky think he was weak? That he couldn’t take it? Tony flicked a disdainful look over his shoulder, eyes narrowed. “Is that all you got?”

“Sir,” Bucky corrected gently, and before Tony could either repeat it, or apologize, or even chose not to apologize, Bucky spanked him again. A little more braced for it, that time, Tony swallowed the indignant squawk he wanted to make. And maybe that cost him a little more breath, because he wasn’t instantaneous with his sir.

Tony counted, because he was Tony fucking Stark and numbers are what he did. He counted each blow, started automatically sorting them into left and right, hard thudding stikes where Bucky hit him with a slightly curved hand that amplifies the force behind them, and sharp stinging cracks from a hand held perfectly flat.

Every five strikes, Bucky stopped for just a moment, letting Tony breathe, and eventually, hitch in a sob. “Enough?”

Tony bit down on his safeword, even though he wanted to say it after the first set. He hadn’t been spanked in a very long time. He’d forgotten -- the pain was the very least of it -- but there was shame and guilt and humiliation that went along with it. The feeling of being treated like a misbehaving puppy. And the fact that his dick couldn’t seem to tell the damn difference between pain and pleasure.

He was still hard as a rock, and each blow pushed him against the beanbag. The pleather was slick, soaked with Tony’s precome and it was almost -- but not quite -- like fucking. Friction and resistance and the easy slide of a perfect angle. He was whimpering, not just from the pain and embarrassment of being spanked, but from need. There wasn’t quite enough friction, the pain was just sharp enough to keep him from getting into the lack of headspace to come. Heat built and built and he got no relief.

Tony realized he was whimpering, just after Bucky reached twenty. So, so many, and when Bucky stopped and asked “enough” Tony burst into tears. They’d been leaking down his cheeks for a while, cool and soft and a counter to the hot skin on his cheeks, the fire in his ass, but Bucky’s concerned tone clenched in his gut, made Tony’s throat hot and tight and swallowing was painful.

“Please, sir,” Tony begged, aware that he was begging. “No, no more, please, sir.”

Bucky moved around to the front, tipping up Tony’s chin to look at him. Those blue eyes were so full of emotion, silver tinged and beautiful. Tony could have drowned in those eyes, and he wasn’t the sort of man to even think the word _drown_ lightly. “Shhh,” Bucky said, and when did he get a washcloth, because he was wiping Tony’s face and that felt good. He hadn’t been able to gather up any of the tears, and he was sniffling like a second grader. “I got you, baby. You okay?”

Tony bit his lip and then nodded. “I’m okay, sir,” he reported. His ass was a large red spot in his head, brilliant and molten. He could no longer feel individual handprints, just one wide, burning ache that was fading and cooling even as the endorphins rushed in. It throbbed, and Tony was pretty sure he was going to be eating dinner, at least, standing up out of respect for his tender hindparts. The scientific part of him was still doing the calculations; Bucky’s full force blows with his metal fist ranged in the low 1200 pounds of energy, or doing as much damage as fifty times the force of gravity. Obviously, Bucky wasn’t hitting that hard, or Tony would have broken bones. But Tony was also pretty sure that Bucky’s hand was a lot harder than most Dom’s prized leather straps.

“You’re still thinkin’,” Bucky observed.

“I wasn’t exactly given an off-switch at birth,” Tony managed, his sarcasm a little sour, then, out of more respect for his aching ass than Bucky’s one rule, he added, “sir.”

Bucky did a slow blink, his eyebrow going up. Tony wasn’t getting away with anything. Well, Bucky had better learn the truth now, as later. Tony was a brat. Even when he was desperately trying to be good, he just couldn’t manage it most of the time. He’d warned Bucky, several times, even.

Bucky did a check while Tony’s ass throbbed like a sore tooth, each beat of his heart echoed in the swollen, sore flesh. But Bucky’d been good, very good. Tony’s ass _hurt_ , no doubt about it, but there probably wouldn’t be many bruises, and nothing was damaged. Tony knew, after years of being Iron Man, what an actual injury felt like, even if he ignored medical’s advice at least three-quarters of the time.

Tugged lightly on Tony’s wrists to check his circulation, plumped the beanbag up a little. Rubbed his cheek against Tony’s sore ass, and bitchmother _fucker_ , that _hurt_ , the rough abrasion of Bucky’s stubble against the raw skin. Tony tried to squirm away from it, pushing into the beanbag with renewed vigor.

Bucky reached between Tony’s legs, stroked up his cock and let go. Moved his hand back to the base and stroked up again. Tony whined, that was so damn frustrating; felt really good, got him hard, and eager, but there was no way in hell he was going to be able to orgasm on an upstroke. Tony swore viciously, then clamped his teeth around a few more choice words before Bucky chuckled, wicked and unconcerned.

“Oh, come _on_ ,” Tony complained, squirming around, trying to fuck into Bucky’s loosely held fist. “Sir. Bucky, please, please, sir…”

“Okay,” Bucky agreed. He knelt in front of Tony, putting his groin at a convenient, mouth-watering angle.. Tony hadn’t noticed until that point that Bucky was naked, but decided to go ahead and admire him, once he did.

“Mmmmhmmm,” Tony murmured, licking his lip once and watching with a certain smug pride as Bucky’s eyes went automatically to his now shiny lower lip with interest.

“This is up to you, now,” Bucky said. He opened the bottle of lube and wet his fingers.

“Finally,” Tony said, and he accompanied that with a glare that he suspected did not fool Bucky in the slightest.

Bucky stretched his arm over Tony’s back and used those lube-slicked fingers to good advantage, rubbing and teasing over the entrance to Tony’s body, not pressing or breaching him, just teasing. Drawing little circles around Tony’s hole, or running the pad of his finger over the puckered, sensitive surface.

Tony moaned, pushed back into it, trying to tempt Bucky into moving along with things; he was almost, not quite, but almost, into the right headspace to just let go, when Bucky fucked him, to not care about anything, beyond the push and pull of bodies.

“Here you go, baby,” Bucky said, and he pressed forward, offering his cock to Tony’s mouth. “Got something for you.”

 _Oh, nice._ Tony opened up, let Bucky tease his lips with that thick, spongy head. Bucky’s dick was nicely broad, a little longer than it really had any right to be, and Tony loved it. The first time he’d gotten a good look at it, he’d chortled with glee and gone to fetch a tape measure, an event that caused Bucky to blush like a tomato.

“So--” Bucky said, and why was he still talking, obviously Tony wasn’t doing a good enough job at it, if Bucky was coherent. He lapped eagerly at the cock in his mouth, sucking it back until the head rested against the back of his throat, almost, but not quite, gagging him. “Tony… oh, god, baby, that’s good…”

 _Much better._ Bucky’s hand was back, his middle and ring finger pressing at Tony’s hole eagerly. Tony wriggled happily, rocking back onto Bucky’s hand, forward to slurp at Bucky’s cock.

“Hey,” Bucky said, soft, his voice breathy, “gotta give ya a warnin’ here, doll. You get me too close to orgasm, an’ I’mma fuck you right then, open an’ ready or not. Slow down, take your time. This’ll last just as long as you want it to.”

Tony twitched. Bucky was _huge_ , even when Tony had been prepped. There was no way he could take it without at least two fingers spread. Tony tipped his jaw, let Bucky’s dick slide from his lips. “That’s not fair, you’ve got a damn hair-trigger. Sir.”

Bucky didn’t stop what he was doing, either. He circled Tony’s hole again, testing the muscle, teasing at the rim. “That’s hardly my fault.”

Tony sort of wanted to argue with it; it might not be Bucky's fault but Bucky also hadn’t ever made any effort to prolong his stamina. Most of the time, it was irrelevant; he had a super-soldier’s ridiculously perky refractory period. There’d been times when Bucky went from orgasm to orgasm without even getting bent in the middle. That, too, was totally unfair. Tony was an old man -- it wasn’t the years, it was the damn mileage -- and he could go once. Or twice, if there was a lot of effort involved, and then he needed a break.

Except that the serum’s advantages had come at such a high cost, it seemed churlish, somehow, to complain about them.

It also meant Tony was going to have to play very carefully. He was already going to have the sorest ass on the island.

“Better get down to it then, sir,” Tony snarked.

Tony contented himself with the tricky task of _licking_ Bucky off. Teasing flickers of his tongue, skating around the crown, long strokes up the big vein. But he absolutely couldn't wrap his lips around that magnificent cock, couldn't draw it into his mouth, feel it press against the back of his throat. Bucky was delightfully responsive most of the time and Tony took no small amount of pride in reducing him to a quivering wreck in mere minutes.

It also meant most of Tony's best tricks were out. There might be nothing new under the sun, but Tony was almost positive he was inventing new oral sex techniques on the fly. He worked his tongue carefully over Bucky's prick, a bare inch at a time, taking mental notes on which spots got the best gasps or moans, and then avoiding those places. Well mostly.

He loved the noises that Bucky made, the urgent whimpers and the deep throated groans. Tony would draw it out, until he got one of those and then back off. He found himself nuzzling at Bucky’s balls quite a bit, it got the same guttural moans, but lacking the urgency that would bring Bucky to an orgasm.

Tony was so preoccupied with Bucky’s dick that he almost lost track of what Bucky was doing with his hand.

_Almost._

Not quite.

Bucky was pretty damn hard to ignore even when Tony _wasn’t_ wound up like a pocket watch.

But he might have not realized that Bucky was up to three fingers; the thumb and pinkie brushing his asscheeks with every stroke as Bucky fucked into him with his hand.

There was a stretch against his mouth as Tony swallowed Bucky back again, driving down as far as he could onto that prick, smiling despite his mouthful. Knowing that the tightness was more than enough to drive Bucky wild.

Bucky’s dick twitched in Tony’s mouth, eager. A burst of precome painted Tony’s tongue and before he could chase down that elusive taste, the whole thing was removed.

He almost complained, and then Bucky pulled his fingers free from Tony’s ass, and Tony did complain then, so abruptly empty at both ends, and wanting, desperately, needing it, to be filled.

Bucky planted kisses everywhere on his way around Tony’s body; his lips, his chin, both cheeks. Bucky nuzzled at one ear, then licked at Tony’s neck. A row of soft, sucking sensation down his spine, before finally, finally, Bucky was lining himself up between Tony’s legs.

Tony just about screamed when Bucky pushed in, a needy, high pitched sound that ended in an almost pathetic whimper.

Bucky’s thighs pressed against Tony’s burning, feverish backside, like rubbing sandpaper over the sensitive skin.

On the other hand, the two inches of Bucky’s dick was not nearly enough, and Tony was torn between thrusting back onto that glorious length, or wincing forward and away, trying to protect his ass. He could swear, his skin was glowing in the dark, how searing each little motion felt.

Bucky paused, let him adapt to the stretch, but there was no getting accustomed to his sizzling buttcheeks. Tony whimpered, clenched up, tried to force himself to relax. It took… a while, and the whole time Bucky was making this strained sound, like he was having to hold his orgasm back by its tail.

Tony almost wept; if Bucky came now, Tony would be in for a long session, since even with his low refractory period, a second orgasm still took him some time, and Tony wasn’t quite sure his ass was up to it. He tried not to flinch, tried to make those seductive and needy sounds that would let Bucky know how much he wanted, how much he needed.

“Shhh, honey,” Bucky was saying, and he stroked one hand gently down Tony’s back. “I got you, it’s okay.”

It was, and it wasn’t. Tony’s ass ached, his skin stung, and he needed to be fucked so hard he could taste it.

Bucky gave him another moment, maybe to see if Tony safeworded out, and then went to fucking him in earnest.

He pushed in, slow and steady, bottomed out. His thighs, hot with lust, and sweaty with exertions, were like salt in the wound. If he could have struck out, or struggled away at that point, he might have. As it was, he fought with his bonds again, and the fervent, angry, needy words that came out of his mouth were incoherent with rage, indignation, and yet slurred and soft with need.

Tony was whining. Bucky was fucking into him, and Tony couldn’t tell anymore if he was pushing back, or squirming away. It mattered not at all, because he was completely at Bucky’s will. One hand on Tony’s hip, the other on the small of his back, and there was nowhere for Tony to go. No way to make it stop.

Even if he wanted it to stop.

Tony didn’t want it to stop.

“Mercy,” he cried, and Bucky didn’t pause, just kept slamming home, and it was glorious and it was agony, and, “oh, god, do not stop, do not, do not fucking stop right now, I will fucking kill you…”

Bucky gave Tony his undivided attention.

Tony spiralled up, up, he was driving himself into the beanbag, no matter how slick and sticky it was, he needed, he needed, and Bucky pulled him back, denied him the friction just long enough to completely sidetrack Tony’s orgasm. It sat there, lurking in his balls, a dull, heavy ache, as Bucky continued to pound into him.

Twice more, Bucky brought him all the way up. The second time, he took huge handfuls of Tony’s ass and squeezed, and the unexpected pain was so great that Tony saw nothing but black and white sparkles in front of his eyes, screamed so loud that his throat hurt.

And then Bucky took him in hand.

Stroked Tony’s dick, shielded him from the clingy fabric. Let Tony rub against his palm. Each stroke of Bucky’s dick was answered with a gentle palm of Tony’s crown, a sweet dance of fingers along his length.

And still, he didn’t come, he couldn’t. He wanted to, but somehow, Bucky had him, poised right on the very edge and didn’t… quite… let him tip over.

Tony went from moaning to threatening, from threatening to begging, and from begging to mewling pathetically. His hair was stringy with sweat, it dripped down his neck. His head hung loose and he was pretty sure he’d started drooling at some point.

Somewhere in there, he’d stopped being able to tell what was pain and what was pleasure. It was all desperate need and aching fire in his veins. His vision blurred again, and while he was vaguely aware that Bucky was talking to him, praising him, stroking his back and sometimes pushing his head even further down, arching his ass high in the air. He was aware that his knees ached, that his spine was protesting, but he didn’t care.

Tony floated, sparkles and glitter and bright, sizzling sensation.

He stopped begging for Bucky to hurry up, to bring him to climax and just let it happen, let what was happening happen.

He was aware… and yet, it didn’t matter. He still felt every stinging stroke, but somewhere in there, his brain just… stopped.

There were words. Feelings. Sensations.

His body had pulled the fire alarm; panic, panic, you are going to be eaten by a bear. But the bear didn’t come, just the steady repetition of Bucky’s cock in his ass, the spurts of pain on his buttcheeks, and…

The bear didn’t matter. Nothing was going to happen.

He was safe.

His body let go.

He let go.

Tony… let go.

Somewhere… there was an intense burst of pleasure, enough that Tony felt it from the balls of his feet to the tips of his ears, and he was screaming with it, but not struggling. Barely moving.

Bucky was talking, but it didn’t matter.

For a long, fuzzy moment, Tony was confused, but even the confusion couldn’t quite pierce the fog.

“... got you, baby, that’s it…”

He was vaguely cognizant that he was being moved, that his arms weren’t held back anymore, that there was an annoying sensation of pins and needles in his feet, but it faded. There was a warm blanket. A bit of water; he held it in his cheek for a while before Bucky encouraged him to swallow, and he did it to make Bucky happy.

Wrapped up in a blanket and Bucky’s arms around him.

No thoughts.

No worries.

Just a faint sense of satisfaction and soft pleasure and easy contentment. Tony cuddled into the warmth that was his Dom and went away.

***

Bucky stayed awake, listening to Tony breathing. Tony had been beautiful in the moment of his surrender -- not that Tony was ever anything but beautiful, but in that moment, when he finally surrendered, not just to Bucky, but to himself, had been truly sublime.

Before, back in New York, when they were still pretending to everyone else that they weren’t doing what they were doing, and to each other it was this weird, unspoken thing, Tony had continually brushed off any talk of kink negotiation, and had scoffed heartily at the idea of aftercare.

Probably, Bucky decided, because he had no idea what he needed. Tony didn’t talk about it much, and what little he did talk about led Bucky to believe that Tony had never received any.

Ten Rings had tortured him with his submission, they would not have provided anything like aftercare. They would have either left him alone in a cold, dark room, or they’d have let him wake to more demands that he couldn’t possibly satisfy, even if he’d wanted to.

Bucky’s throat ached, his heart hurt, thinking of how they must have hurt Tony.

He knew. He knew the horrible things people could do to each other.

He let Tony curl around him, one hand was on Tony’s back, but he didn’t stroke Tony’s skin, didn’t pet his hair or say anything. Better to just be a comforting presence than risk Tony waking in fear.

Even without the dom-sub relationship, Tony had suffered from some post-coital dysphoria, feelings of sadness and anxiety after sex. He’d brushed off Bucky’s attempts to comfort or reassure him pretty harshly, going as far as leaving their bed for the workshop and locking Bucky out.

Not talking about it, not having any experience with it, Bucky was suffering from a little bit of anxiety himself.

He was positive Tony had hit subspace; all the signs were there. Increased stamina and pain tolerance, decreased response rate. Blown pupils, incoherency. Bucky’d nudged Tony a few times, did he need to safeword, was he okay, but once he hit subspace… Bucky knew that subs would never safeword out at that point. They simply weren’t capable of recognizing their own body’s needs. It was his responsibility to track Tony’s well-being by then.

Bucky was pretty sure he got it okay. Tony’s ass was still red and it was probably going to be a little sore, but unlikely not more than doing a rigorous workout, and he was more than likely less injured than going a few rounds with the Wrecking Crew.

Tony’s mental state? Well, that remained to be seen.

Tony wriggled; his arms closing around Bucky’s waist and yanked himself closer. Bucky inhaled slowly, but didn’t talk. Tony was often restless in sleep as he was while awake. It didn’t necessarily mean he was waking up.

God knew, Tony needed to sleep. Even two hours after an intense scene was a lot, for him.

Except Tony was waking up. Bucky’s enhanced hearing caught the increased tempo of Tony’s heart. His eyelids fluttered and then he opened them.

For a long, perfect moment, Tony’s eyes were soft, warm, honey-brown and utterly unguarded. He gazed up at Bucky and a tentative smile touched his lips. Not the press smile or the billionaire, playboy, genius smirk, or even the thing that Tony thought was a real smile, the one he directed and their friends.

But an actual smile. A secret smile, reserved just for Bucky.

“Hey,” Bucky said, soft.

Tony reached a hand up and brushed his knuckles across Bucky’s cheek. “I love you.” But his voice broke on the last syllable and suddenly Tony was sobbing. Not just a trickle of moisture from those brown eyes, but _sobbing_. Bone shaking, gasping for air, crying. “Oh, god…”

“Shhhh,” Bucky said, and he tried to loosen his hold, in case Tony needed to get away, but Tony clung to him even harder, so hard that even supersoldier skin was bruising, and shook his head, his face pressed to Bucky’s chest. Bucky gathered Tony up into his lap. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m here, baby, right here for you. Whatever you need.”

“Oh, god, I can’t make it stop,” Tony whimpered, rubbing his face against Bucky’s chest, totally shameless.

“You okay?” Bucky asked, which was a stupid question, because of course Tony wasn’t all right, he was goddamn crying, and Bucky floundered a bit, not knowing what to do, feeling like an utter heel for--

“I’m fine, oh, god, I’m fine, I love you so much,” Tony babbled, “and I’m just… I’m happy, this is so stupid, I’m sorry, I--”

Bucky suddenly relaxed, relief as clear as water. “Oh. You’re a little overwhelmed, baby,” he said. “It’s okay. I gotcha. You just cry as much as you need to, honey. No judgements here. I love you, Tony. Love you so much.”

He combed his fingers through Tony’s hair, rubbed his neck, his back. Soothed and praised him. Tony had been so good, so sweet. He was so loved. Bucky knew it was hard, knew that Tony had given everything he had to give, and Bucky appreciated it, so much. He was so proud of Tony. “You want a little water? Maybe put your clothes on?” Sometimes being so emotionally vulnerable and being naked at the same time was a hard combination to take. But Tony just clung harder and shook his head. After a while, Bucky was able to tempt him into drinking a bottle of water, and then once Tony’s body realized it had needs, it was a little easier. Tony took a second bottle of water without any coaxing at all, fed him some apple slices and cheese, a little peanut butter and a handful of chocolates.

Tony refused to leave Bucky’s side, wanted a hand on him the entire time, so he led Tony to the bathroom to get first aid care.

“Don’t… god, Tony, I have to pee, face the other way.” Bucky’d always had a little trouble with that, even in the army. He thought it might have had something to do with growing up with nothing but sisters.

Tony had kept his hand stretched around the corner of the door frame while Bucky took a piss, which was a little weird, but okay, he was going to do whatever Tony needed. Tony cuddled up against Bucky’s back while he washed his hands, brushed his teeth. Grumbled when Bucky insisted that Tony brush his teeth as well, and only did it, Bucky thought, because Bucky threatened to do it for him like Tony was a toddler.

Washed Tony’s face, checked his bruises; there were hardly any, except on his wrists where he’d struggled against his bonds. Washed them out, smeared some lidocaine on one abrasion where ropeburn had actually torn the skin, wrapped it loosely in some gauze.

Tony finally stopped leaking around the eyeballs when Bucky made him lay face down on the bed and get lidocaine rubbed into his tender ass. He hissed a few times, but promised it didn’t actually hurt that much.

“It’s okay for it to hurt, baby,” Bucky said. “I don’t think less of you. It was a pretty intense scene for you.”

Tony threw a scowl over his shoulder. “I’m not gonna break,” he said.

“I might,” Bucky put in, which got him almost knocked over when Tony tried to roll over.

“The hell--”

Bucky held his hands up like he was surrendering. “You’re important to me, Tony. You don’t have to tough it out when the scene is over. This is my time to baby you and take care of you, and I need that, just as much as you do. I love you.”

The tears glimmered in Tony’s eyes again, and Bucky was warmed all over that Tony hadn’t tried to hide any of this from him. He craved it; not the tears, exactly, but the _trust_.

Tony trusted Bucky, trusted himself to let down his guard.

It was the greatest gift that Tony could ever, ever give him.

Bucky drew him in again, kissed Tony’s forehead. “You were perfect. Perfect, an’ I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Tony said. He took a deep, quivering breath, then added, almost cheekily, “sir.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I have at least enough material now for another 3 or 4 parts. Unlike my normal stuff where I break up things that are more than 6k into chapters, I'm just writing these until the plot point is complete, whenever that is.
> 
> There is no posting schedule.


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